


Elves Have More Fun

by OfEndlessWonder



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: (or as close as these two idiots are ever going to get), Breathplay, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Strap-Ons, with some added smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfEndlessWonder/pseuds/OfEndlessWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Well if you want to make doubly sure you’re on the naughty list I brought a couple of things back from my trip that I think you’ll enjoy.' Shaw’s pulse quickens as she thinks about it, because Root always promises a good time but right now there’s a look in her eye that Shaw’s only seen a handful of times before – one that whispers that Root wants to completely and utterly destroy her, and Root’s the only person that Shaw’s ever let close enough to try."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elves Have More Fun

**Author's Note:**

> I got the image of an extremely grumpy Shaw being forced to dress up as an elf for a number, and this fic just sorta happened. Set during the start of season four, before Shaw was taken (or alternatively in a less painful AU world where she was never taken at all).

“You have _got_ to be freaking kidding me.” Shaw eyes the costume that’s been laid out for her with distaste, and in her ear she hears John snicker and her eyes narrow into a glare despite the fact that she’s alone in the changing room.

_“I’m afraid not, Miss Shaw,”_ Harold murmurs through her earpiece. _“The Machine gave us Mr Cranshaw’s number last night, and his day job at the moment happens to be a Santa impersonator, and seeing as the store is an elf short…”_ He trails off, and Shaw glares balefully at the ridiculous elf costume that had been thrust her way when she’d reported for work that morning, as though the force of her stare might make it less hideous.

_“You did volunteer, Shaw,”_ John points out, helpfully, and Shaw can hear the amusement in his voice, knows that he’s probably imaging the look on her face.

“Not for _this_ ,” she hisses in reply, because when she’d been promised an undercover job, the chance to get out of that department store she loathed for a few precious days, she’d been quick to say she’d take it, but she’d had no idea that the job in question would be even worse than her day job. “Why can’t _you_ do this?”

_“I don’t think the outfit would fit,”_ comes John’s mild reply, and Shaw sighs, casting her eyes towards the ceiling. She sees no way out of this other than to get to work, and she prays, as she strips out of her black hoodie and jeans and into the green monstrosity, that this number will be over sooner rather than later.

“If either of you say one word,” Shaw mutters as she makes her way from the changing room and out onto the shop floor, “one word, about this outfit,” she continues as she follows the sound of screaming and crying children towards the grotto that’s been set up in the centre of the store, “I will shoot you.”

_“Can I at least take a picture?”_ John asks, and Shaw hears Harold’s sharp intake of breath at how far John’s pushing her.

“Oh, go to hell.” There isn’t much malice in her voice, though, because she knows that if their positions were reversed and John looked as ridiculous as she’s sure she does, then she’d never let him hear the end of it.

John signs off with a chuckle, muttering about needing to get to work, and Shaw feels a pang of jealousy, that he gets to go to the police station, gets to actually do something fulfilling, while she’s stuck _here_. Not for the first time, Shaw curses the Machine for sticking her with a retail job while the other two got to do something more… suited to their interests.

Shaw’s sure, if she ever had nightmares, that they would look like her life right now – standing at the front of a long line of screaming, sniffling, excitable children dragging along their weary parents, and she’s ready to turn around and walk back out of the door within five minutes. It’s only the thought of going back to the department store and spraying random people with perfume or being forced to listen to the complaints of housewives as she applies their make-up that keeps her where she is, because at least here there’s a chance of some action, of getting a much-needed adrenaline rush and maybe taking out a few guy’s kneecaps.

So she forces a smile (she thinks, from the alarmed look some of the parents give her and the way that a couple of the kids start tearing up when they look at her, that it may not be a wholly convincing one), and reluctantly does her job, stealing furtive glances at Santa Claus whenever she can.

She kind of likes the idea of him being the perp, and is wondering if John will be willing to take her up on a holiday bet on the subject – he doesn’t look particularly dangerous, but if Shaw’s learned anything in her line of work, it’s that you can never underestimate people. The most interest thing he does all day, in her opinion, is take a swig from a hip flask concealed in one of the pockets of his Santa suit, and Shaw kind of wishes that there was enough room in her stupidly tight elf costume for her to hide a flask of her own, because she knows that this job would be a hell of a lot easier to get through with the help of a little liquor.

All the other employees look as bored as Shaw feels, and when she’s not watching their number she amuses herself by listening to the requests some of the kids as they perch on Santa’s knee – and to the temper tantrums some of them throw when their parents pry a particular toy out of their grubby hands and put it back on the shelf.

She has to dodge at least three come-ons by fathers waiting in the queue, and each time, instead of replying, she shoots them her best blank stare and raised eyebrow that she hopes conveys the thought of ‘you _really_ think the best place to pick up a date is in a _toy_ store?’ that runs through her head each and every time.

_“I believe I know why we were given Mr Cranshaw’s number, Miss Shaw,”_ Finch’s voice in her ear is a welcome distraction as she approaches the penultimate hour of her shift. _“He’s a prolific gambler, and judging from the current state of his bank accounts and the severe debt he’s found himself in, I’d say he owes some questionable people a lot of money.”_

“So Santa’s got a gambling problem as well as drinking problem,” Shaw murmurs in reply as she steers another child towards the man in question. “Still doesn’t solve the problem of whether he’s the perp or not. How much money are we talking?”

_“Several million, from what I can see.”_ Shaw whistles quietly under her breath.

“Enough to do something stupid for,” she murmurs, looking over at their number with renewed interest.

_“And enough for the people he owes to send a debt collector after him,”_ Finch points out, and Shaw can’t argue with that. He sends her several blurry photographs of people to look out for, and she spends the remainder of the afternoon scanning the area around her for any sign of them, but her shift ends uneventfully. She practically runs to the changing room to strip out of her costume and back into her regular clothes, and she hurries back out into the shop quickly, tailing their number with her hood drawn over her head as he makes his way back home.

Shaw scouts out his apartment building once he’s safely inside and, deeming it safe, returns to the street outside, leaning with her shoulder pressed against the brick wall of an alley that offers her a semi-decent view inside his first floor apartment.

She watches him cook, her stomach rumbling, reminding her that it’s been several hours since she’d last eaten, and as he wanders past his window and out of sight holding a plate in his hands, a car pulls to a stop at the mouth of the alleyway, and she grins and approaches when she recognises the plates.

“I’m disappointed, Shaw,” John murmurs as he rolls his window down, looking up at her with a lopsided smile. “I was hoping I’d get the opportunity to see the new look.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit.” John’s smile widens, and Shaw’s glare softens when she sees a brown paper bag with the logo of her preferred fast food joint printed on the side. “Please tell me that’s for me.”

“Thought you could use it, after the day you’d had.” John reaches for the bag and Shaw almost wants to hug him, gratitude flooding through her as she glances inside and sees that he’s gotten her favourite.

“I’ll _almost_ forgive the teasing for this.” She watches his mouth open and narrows her eyes. “Almost.”

“Go home, get some rest,” he wisely says, instead of whatever remark he’d been about to let rip.

“And when are _you_ going to get some rest?” Shaw asks around a mouthful of fries, aware that he’s been working for most of the day, too.

“Fusco’s switching with me later.”

“Bet he loved being told that,” Shaw smirks, and John grins. “Call me if you need backup.” He nods, and she takes her leave, walking the short distance to her covers apartment, finishing her food as she goes.

Her place isn’t great – it’s shabby and a little run-down, the wallpaper peeling off the walls and some questionable stains on the floors – but she’s lived in worse. It has a bed and running water and a working stove, and that’s really all she needs.

She cracks open a beer as soon as she’s shed her coat, flinging it over the back of her couch, and she presses the bottle to her lips and downs almost half its contents in a single gulp. She’s more tired than she probably ought to be, considering she’s done little more than herd kids around all day, and she drags herself towards the bathroom as soon as she’s finished the bottle, deciding to shower and wash away the day before crawling into bed, and with any luck John will call her in a couple of hours with news on the number and tomorrow she can go back the slightly less tedious job of working at the make-up counter.

She trips over a wire on her way to her bedroom, and she glares darkly at the floor as she steadies herself, bending to pick up the offending item and bunching it up in her hands, shaking her head as she places it delicately on her coffee table.

It’s Root’s, and her habit of leaving her shit all over Shaw’s apartment floor is starting to wear thin. They don’t live together – and Shaw would punch anyone who insinuated that level of domesticity in their relationship, Root included – but whenever the hacker’s in town she tends to crash here, and Shaw’s not entirely sure when that had stopped annoying her. But Root had looked so solemn, on that night nearly three months ago now, when she’d turned up at Shaw’s door with a bullet hole in her shoulder asking Shaw to patch her up. After Shaw had asked her if her cover apartment was as shitty as hers, she’d admitted quietly that she _had_ no apartment, that she’d been sleeping in the subway without the Machine whispering in her ear, telling her where to stay, and Shaw hadn’t quite been able to turn her away.

They’d already been sleeping together for months – it had started in that CIA safehouse when Shaw had realised that the best way to shut Root up was to shove her against the nearest vertical surface and swallow her words with the hot press of her mouth, and it had never stopped. Root offered Shaw something she knew would be difficult to find elsewhere – they were into the same things, and Root wasn’t afraid to push things further than most of her other partners ever had before, and not that she’d ever admit it, even with a gun pressed to her temple, but Root’s probably the best Shaw’s ever had. She knows that Root has feelings for her (she thinks that that’s obvious to everyone with eyes), but Root has never pushed her for more, never asked anything of her that Shaw’s been uncomfortable with, seems content to take as much as Shaw can give her.

Shaw grumbles to herself as she tugs her shirt over her head, about Root and her computer shit all over her floor, but she can’t help but wonder, as she presses her bathroom door open and turns on the shower, letting the hot water steam up the room, where Root is. It’s been several days since she last heard from the hacker, and longer still since she’s seen her, and she can’t help but remember that not too long ago, Root had been prepared to sacrifice herself in a hotel to save them all.

She has a martyr complex, Shaw knows. She’ll die willingly for her God, to save the rest of them, and somewhere along the way, Shaw had started to care enough to want Root to stay safe. Which is ridiculous, really, considering what they do and who they’re running from – she’s sure that Samaritan will catch up with them, sooner rather than later, and she’s pretty sure that, despite her history of dangerous jobs, that she’s never been more at risk than she is now. None of them are safe, but that doesn’t mean that they have to be _reckless_ , and Root has never seemed more so than she is now, and Shaw can’t help but wonder if it’s a direct result of the loss of the Machine in her ear.

She shakes her head to clear it as she steps into the shower, breathing out a quiet sigh of contentment as the hot water beats against her skin. She knows it’s useless to worry, that Root can take care of herself. Well, mostly – she’d learned, in these few months, that without the Machine telling her where to shoot, Root is pretty useless in a fight. Shaw’s been trying to rectify that, though, by teaching her how to fight, sparring with her whenever they get the chance – the fact that it usually ends up with them pressed tightly together on the floor and getting distracted is really just an added bonus.

She lets the water wash away her thoughts of Root, knowing that the hacker will no doubt soon be back invading her personal space soon, and clambers into bed with her hair still damp, tucking her phone under her pillow in-case John calls as she closes her eyes to sleep.

x-x-x

“Please tell me you’re calling with good news,” Shaw says as she answers her phone the next morning, cradling it between her neck and her shoulder as her hands busy themselves with making her morning coffee.

_“If your idea of good news is spending another day at the toy store,”_ John answers cheerfully, and Shaw groans, tilting her head back and cursing under her breath. _“We had a boring night.”_

“Wanna swap places for the day?” Shaw asks hopefully as she pours her coffee into a thermos, and she glances at the bottle of whisky sitting on her shelf and wonders whether she should give it a little more kick to get her through the day.

_“No, thanks,”_ comes the quick reply, and Shaw breathes out a heavy sigh. _“Have fun.”_ She can hear the grin in John’s voice as he hangs up, and Shaw thinks, as she traipses out of her apartment and makes her way into the bitterly cold air, that she’s never volunteering to go undercover for a number ever, _ever_ again.

Her day is the same as the one before it – namely, boring as hell. She notices that Cranshaw seems a little more agitated, and drinks a hell of a lot more, but aside from that nothing is different, and Shaw finds her mind wandering as she stands with her fake smile at the front of the queue. She must look bored, because her supervisor approaches her halfway through her shift and tells her to swap with one of the other girls and act as a shop assistant, instead.

She relishes the chance to stretch her legs (but not so much having to help frantic parents find a certain specific toy for their kids), circling around the grotto and keeping the number in her line of sight as much as physically possible when someone asks her a question every five freaking seconds.

“I have to say, Shaw,” a voice drawls from behind Shaw’s shoulder, and she tenses at the sound of it, turns around slowly to come face-to-face with Root. “I’m loving the new look.” Root’s lips are curved into a smirk, and Shaw’s eyes narrow as she takes in the look on her face, because she is enjoying this far more than she should. “You look _adorable_.”

“I _will_ hurt you,” Shaw warns, glowering, but Root only smirks, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Promises, promises,” she murmurs, a glint in her eyes that Shaw hasn’t seen for a while, not since before Samaritan came online and Root lost the Machine in her ear. “I hope you’re planning on delivering.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” Shaw replies sweetly, and Root chuckles. “What are you even _doing_ here?”

“I was in town,” Root shrugs, gaze dropping from Shaw’s face as she runs a black-tipped finger across the edge of a box on the table next to her. “And I just _had_ to see this with my own eyes.”

“Got an elf fetish I should be worried about?” A couple of people walking past give them a scandalised look as they overhear Shaw’s words, and Root grins.

“Not usually,” she admits, “but when it comes to you? Who knows?” Shaw rolls her eyes, turning her back to Root to return to her Santa-watch, but Root just moves to her side, pressing so close that Shaw can feel the heat of her body, catching the scent of the perfume Root always wears lingering in the air between them – the same perfume that clings to her sheets whenever Root wheedles her way into her bed. Root leans close to breathe into her ear, and Shaw tenses as she feels warm breath against her skin. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question,” Shaw replies, and Root’s smirk, when Shaw turns her head to catch her eye, is wicked.

“Mm, well if you want to make doubly sure you’re on the naughty list I brought a couple of things back from my trip that I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Yeah?” Shaw’s pulse quickens as she thinks about it, because Root always promises a good time but right now there’s a look in her eye that Shaw’s only seen a handful of times before – one that whispers that Root wants to completely and utterly destroy her, and Root’s the only person that Shaw’s ever let close enough to try.

“Mhm.” Root’s eyes are dark, and Shaw’s tongue runs across her teeth – she watches Root’s gaze lower, watching the movement with rapt attention.

“Like what?” Her voice is a little huskier than she’d like, but her mind is running on overdrive, and she knows she’s barely going to be able to concentrate for the rest of the day, and she also knows that that is exactly what Root wanted.

_“Miss Shaw,”_ comes an alarmed squeak into her earpiece, and Shaw jumps a little, forgetting that she’d had the line open all morning. _“May I remind you – again – that I can hear everything you’re saying.”_

“Sorry, Finch.” It’s not the first time she and Root have almost mentally scarred him – Root has a habit of making Shaw forget that her earpiece is on, and both Finch and John have heard more than either of them would have ever wanted to.

“Hi, Harry,” Root murmurs into Shaw’s ear, and Shaw hears him sigh quietly in response.

_“Hello, Miss Groves.”_ He doesn’t say anything more, and Root shifts away from her, straightening up and Shaw knows from the look on her face that the Machine is whispering something into her ear.

“Gotta go, sweetie,” she says a moment later, “places to be, people to see. I don’t think you’ll be getting any action with your number later this afternoon but you’ll definitely be getting some action when you get back home.”

Shaw casts her eyes skyward with a groan, shaking her head as Root tries (and fails) to wink at her before sauntering away. She wishes that she could leave the store as easily as Root can, but she supposes that even if her day doesn’t improve, she knows that she has a night with Root to look forward to, and her outlook on this day has improved considerably.

Now that she can move around more freely, Shaw scouts the store for any sign of the guys that Finch had told her to be on the lookout for, but comes up empty. She supposes that it’s unlikely, if he’s the victim rather than the perp, that he’ll be attacked in the light of day in the middle of a toy store but hey, a girl could dream.

But her day passes as uneventfully as the one before it – at least in regards to their number. A few more guys hit on her, and one actually dared to make a grab for her ass as she’d walked by; she’d barely managed to refrain from snapping his wrist, but in a magnificent show of self-control had merely turned and shot him her most poisonous glare over her shoulder, which made him cower all the same.

Her mood is sour as the store begins to close for the night, and Shaw hopes that Reese appears to take over for the night watch sooner rather than later, because she thinks the only thing that’s going to stop her from kneecapping the next person to look at her funny is a night of mind-blowing sex with Root.

Shaw almost loses her number, he’s in such a hurry to leave the store (not that she can blame him, really), and she doesn’t have a chance to change, cursing as she makes a quick stop to grab her coat, tugging it over her shoulders and hiding her gun in the pocket as she hurries after him.

She returns to the same alley as the night before, cradling a Styrofoam cup of coffee she’d gotten from a vendor down the street in an attempt to ward off the chill in the air, bitter about the fact that her cover doesn’t seem to need a car. She keeps one eye on their number as he potters about his apartment and the other on the watch around her wrist to count down the minutes to Reese coming to relieve her and put an end to this awful day, hoping that Root had been wrong earlier and something would happen in the next few minutes, _anything_ to ward off the boredom that sinks deeper into her bones than the cold of the night air.

John pulls up to the mouth of the alley almost two hours later than he had the night before, and Shaw stalks towards the car as soon as it’s in her line of sight, eyes narrowed into a glare because she’s frozen and she’s bored and she’s _hungry_ , and he does a double-take when he winds the window down and takes a look at her face.

“Where the hell have you _been_?” She hisses, and his one saving grace is that she can see another bag of food on the passenger seat, and noticing her line of sight he hands it over to her quickly as a peace offering.

“Detective Riley was behind on paperwork and his boss wouldn’t let him leave until it was all done,” John sighs, but Shaw hardly thinks he can complain – at least he gets to do _something_ on his day job other than helping people _shop_.

“Oh, cry me a river.” She takes a bite of the burger John had brought her and closes her eyes for a brief moment, savouring the taste, and John chuckle quietly, raising an eyebrow when Shaw scoffs the entire thing within two seconds.

“Impatient for something, Shaw?” He asks, amused, and Shaw shoots him another glare as she scrunches up the paper bag into a ball in her hands.

“I was hungry,” she defends, and tomorrow (god, she hopes there isn’t tomorrow, and this number gets dealt with tonight – she doesn’t think she can take another day as an elf) she needs to remember to eat something before her shift ends.

“ _Just_ for food?” John asks with a small smirk, and Shaw rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what he’s hinting at.

“God, you’re getting as bad as Root.”

“I thought _you_ were the one who was bad?”

“You really need to stop listening into other people’s conversations, Reese,” she replies lightly, but he just shakes his head.

“ _You_ really need to remember to turn your coms off whenever Root’s around,” he points out, and Shaw can’t argue with that, really, but she’s not about to agree with him, either. “Although it’s worth it, sometimes,” he continues wonderingly, “to see the look on Harold’s face.” Shaw can imagine, considering the look he gets sometimes when Root makes a particularly lewd remark whenever they’re around him in the subway – once she’d made a comment about how good Shaw would look spread across Finch’s desk and Shaw doesn’t think he’s ever quite recovered.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Shaw mutters, impatient to get out of there now that she’s no longer needed. “Call me if you need me – but _try_ not to.”

“I think I can handle it,” John murmurs as he leans back into his seat, getting himself settled in for the night. “Bye, Shaw.” She nods to him before slipping away, off down the street with her hands embedded deep into her pockets.

The sky above is dark, tinged with grey in a way that makes Shaw think it might snow, and sure enough just as she’s jogging up the steps to her apartment, the first flakes start to fall, settling in her hair and making her wrinkle her nose.

She takes the stairs up to her place (she doesn’t trust the elevator not to break down), and slides her key into the lock, letting herself inside. The first thing she sees is Root’s leather jacket on the back of her couch and shakes her head, because she’s never given Root a key but she always manages to make her way inside, no matter how many times Shaw’s changed the locks (she does it just for fun, and just to annoy Root, but it never seems to work).

There’s a light on in her bedroom, and Shaw pads quietly towards it – and then nearly falls flat on her face as she stumbles over a boot, and she growls, low in the back of throat, picking it up and marching towards her bedroom with it held tightly in her hand, wondering if maybe Root will start to tidy up after herself if Shaw launches it at her head.

“I really wish you’d stop leaving your shit lying around where I - ” She pulls up short as she bursts into her bedroom, because she hadn’t been expecting to find Root lying sprawled out across her bed wearing nothing but black lace panties and a corset-like top that Shaw’s never seen her in before. Her skin is ghostly pale in the dim lighting, giving her an ethereal glow, and Shaw’s eyes track over the exposed skin of her legs and chest hungrily.

“What was that, sweetie?” Root asks, voice saccharine, and the boot drops from Shaw’s hand and clatters to the floor as her hands reach for the buttons of her coat, shoving it from her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet. “I wasn’t serious, you know, about the elf fetish,” Root says then, trying to hide a smile, and Shaw glances down, remembers that she hadn’t been able to change earlier and is still wearing the costume, and growls again, yanking it angrily over her head and glaring at it as it drops to the floor, wondering if burning it would be classed as too extreme. “Mm, that’s much better.” Shaw stands for a moment, soaking in Root’s gaze, watching her face as her eyes flit over Shaw’s skin, lingering at her breasts, before she reaches out a hand and Shaw moves towards her – when she takes Root’s hand the other woman is quick to pull her onto the bed and flips them, pressing Shaw’s back against the mattress and settling a knee on either side of her hips. “Did you miss me?”

There’s a teasing note to her voice that makes Shaw roll her eyes, and instead of answering she tangles a hand in the hair at the base of Root’s neck, pulling her head down so that she can press their lips together, her other hand running across Root’s back and over the curve of her ass.

She might not have missed Root (except maybe she did, just a little, but Root definitely doesn’t need to know _that_ ), but she’s definitely missed _this_ , and her mouth opens willingly for Root’s tongue as it flicks against her lips, and she sucks on the muscle gently, revelling in the tiny moan that echoes into her mouth. Shaw’s pretty sure that she’ll never get enough of that, of the noises Root makes whenever they’re together like this, and she tightens her hold in Root’s hair, tugging gently to elicit another, louder, moan. Shaw drags her other hand up Root’s side, over her hip and across her ribs, towards her breasts, but pauses when Root flinches away from her touch, breathing out a quiet hiss.

“What was that?” She asks, suspicion lining her voice as Root tries to distract her with another kiss – she rears backwards so that her head is pressed against the pillows behind her, releasing her hold on Root’s hair to press against her sternum, instead, keeping her at arm’s length. “Root?”

“I… had a little accident, when I was away. That’s all.” Shaw’s eyes narrow as she pushes herself upright, Root moving with her.

“What kind of accident?” Shaw demands, voice rough, and Root sighs and looks away and Shaw decides to answer the question herself, hands reaching around Root’s back to pluck open the corset. A blue-purple bruise mars the skin across part of Root’s ribcage, and Shaw tuts as she ducks her head to examine it more closely.

Anger sparks to life in the pit of her stomach because Root is so careless, lately, comes back to Shaw with a fresh wound almost every time, and not for the first time she wonders how long it will be before Root doesn’t come back at all and feels something sit heavy in her chest.

She remembers all too easily the last time Root had come back to her injured – Shaw had tugged Root’s shirt over her head only to discover a badly stitched a gunshot wound beneath. She’d been appalled by the state of it, only growing more so when Root had admitted, quietly, that no, a vet hadn’t been the one to stitch her up, that instead she’d been forced to do it herself. Shaw had imagined Root in a dingy bathroom somewhere, skin ghostly pale and slick with sweat, biting on her lip to silence her cries of pain as she pressed her fingers into the hole in her side, searching for the bullet within, and had felt sick.

She runs her thumb absently over the fading bruise of that gunshot wound, the scar it’s leaving behind raised and jagged (Shaw had promptly sat Root down the next day and taught her how to do a decent row of stitches), before returning her attention to her newest injury.

“What happened?” She asks, voice deathly quiet, and Root sighs.

“Some guy threw a punch at me, and I… I didn’t get out of the way in time,” Root shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but she winces when Shaw prods the outer ring of bruising, trying to assess the damage. “They’re not broken, just bruised.”

“I thought I taught you better than this,” Shaw murmurs, thinking back to their many sparring sessions, the sole aim of which was the make sure that Root could hold her own in a fight.

“I was a little outnumbered.” Shaw lets out her breath in a long sigh, vowing to bring Reese into things next time, show Root a couple of things about fighting more than one person at a time. She catches sight of the corset, then, realises why Root had been wearing it and clenches her jaw tightly, anger flooding through her as she reaches for it, waving it in-front of Root’s face, voice clipped.

“Did you really think you could hide this from me?” She asks, angrily, and Root shakes her head, biting at her bottom lip.

“Not really,” she admits quietly, looking so far away from her usual flirtatious self as she crosses her arms over her chest, that Shaw doesn’t know what to do with her. “But it was worth a shot.” Shaw wonders if she’s remembering the last time they’d been in this situation, the anger that had blazed through Shaw when she’d thought of Root, alone and bleeding, the fury that had been in her voice when she’d told her to stop being so reckless.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” She counts to ten before she speaks, not wanting to say anything rash, but her voice is tight and sounds odd to her ears. Root’s been avoiding her gaze but finally turns her head in order to meet Shaw’s eyes, and Shaw wonders what she sees in them as her expression softens, her hands dropping from her chest in order to wrap around Shaw’s neck, instead. “You need to be more careful.”

“I didn’t realise you cared, Shaw,” comes the quiet reply, and Shaw shakes her head again, exasperated, because it’s not the first time she’s heard that but Root has to know that she _does_ care by now, must know it from her actions even if Shaw isn’t good at articulating the words themselves.

“You know that I do,” she responds softly, brushing her thumb lightly across Root’s ribs and watching her let out a shaky breath.

“I did the best that I could,” Root says softly, as though she’s desperate for Shaw to know that she tried, and Shaw quirks an eyebrow upward in response.

“Are you trying to say that my hand to hand combat training isn’t good enough?”

“Maybe,” Root drawls, looking more like her old self as she runs a hand through Shaw’s hair. “You’re just going to have to give me some more lessons.” She shifts, leaning down to press her mouth against Shaw’s ear. “But right now I can think of much better things for our hands to be doing…” She trails off, and Shaw doesn’t protest when Root’s head turns in order to press their lips together, allows her mouth to be dominated by Root’s tongue as Root deftly presses her back against the mattress once more.

“Maybe you should be taking it easy,” Shaw says when their lips part, because she’s not entirely confident in Root’s self-assessment skills, if she’s being honest (she shudders every time she thinks of those stitches because Christ, she’s pretty sure a ten year old could do a better job and really, after so long in their line of work you’d think Root would have gotten a _little_ first aid training), and wouldn’t be surprised if her ribs were broken, after all.

“I’m fine, Sameen,” Root murmurs the words against her skin, shifting to press her mouth against the corner of Shaw’s jaw and beginning to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck.

“Are you _sure_? Because – fuck.” Root nips at her pulse point, _hard_ , and Shaw forgets what she was going to say as Root releases the pressure of her teeth, soothing some of the sting with the hot press of her tongue. “Did you at least get it x-rayed?” She asks, and feels Root sigh against her collarbone.

“You know how much I love it when you play doctor, Sameen,” Root drawls, slipping one hand beneath Shaw’s back to flick open the clasp of her bra, pulling the straps down her arms and throwing it over her shoulder. “But right now it’s kind of ruining the mood.”

“I just - ”

“No more talking,” Root interrupts, her voice low, quietly demanding, her eyes dark as she looks up at Shaw through her lashes, and Shaw swallows thickly, because nothing gets her hotter than Root ordering her around in bed.

“Or what?” She challenges her anyway, and a slow, almost predatory smirk crosses Root’s lips as she slides one hand up Shaw’s body, wrapping her fingers around her neck as she leans upwards, squeezing gently as she leans down to breathe her next words against Shaw’s mouth.

“Or I’ll make sure you do,” Root promises, before pressing another searing kiss against Shaw’s lips, keeping her hand tight around Shaw’s throat as her tongue dips inside her mouth before darting away again.

Shaw can feel her pulse thundering in her ears as her head starts feel light, and Root squeezes her throat tightly for another one, two, three seconds before releasing her, leaning away and leaving Shaw gasping for breath, her vision a little fuzzy around the edges and all thoughts of further chastising Root for her recklessness pushed to the back of her mind (for now, at least).

Root leans away as she leaves Shaw to catch her breath, and Shaw hears the clink of metal against metal a second before something cold closes around one of her wrists, and before Shaw can even blink Root’s looped the second cuff through the metal of Shaw’s headboard and secured both of her wrists above her head.

“I hope these weren’t the only toy you brought back with you,” Shaw murmurs as she rattles the handcuffs experimentally, testing how tightly she’s bound, and Root just smirks, looking down at her with dark eyes.

“I thought I said no talking,” Root reminds her, and Shaw rolls her eyes but snaps her jaw shut, which makes Root’s smirk widen. “Good girl.” Shaw’s eyes narrow into a glare and Root chuckles lightly before bending down to press a brief kiss to her lips. “And no, it’s not the only thing…” Root trails off, shifting to grab something from behind her, and Shaw raises an eyebrow when she sees the black sliver of material that Root’s holding in her hand.

There’s a question in Root’s eyes because the restraints aren’t new but the blindfold most definitely is (Shaw thinks that the fact that they’d used knives in bed together before a blindfold probably says a lot about both their personalities and their compatibility in bed together), and Shaw nods in reply, raising her head from the pillow in order to allow Root to fasten it.

Once her eyes are obscured, Shaw becomes acutely aware of the weight of Root, settled at her hips, her skin feeling like it burns everywhere they touch. She feels Root move, leaning towards her, before there’s hot breath against her neck as lips brush against her skin.  

Teeth sink into the flesh where her neck and shoulder meet, and Shaw groans in response, hips rising off the bed, searching for friction that Root refuses to give her. Her mouth trails lower, tongue tracing the length of Shaw’s collarbones before sliding down her sternum, and Shaw arches into Root’s mouth when teeth nip at the side of one of her breasts.

Root’s hair tickles at her skin as she shifts so that she’s straddling one of Shaw’s thighs, and Shaw bites her lip when Root grinds against her, letting Shaw feel how wet she is already beneath her panties, and she feels Root’s breath stutter against her chest when Shaw arches her hips, pressing up against her.

A warm mouth envelops one of her nipples, teeth biting gently as Root’s tongue draws lazy circles, and Shaw lets out a quiet moan, trying to hook one of her legs around Root’s hip to pull her closer, to grind against her in an attempt to soothe the growing ache between her thighs, but Root swats her away and stays frustratingly out of reach.

“Root,” she groans in frustration when Root’s mouth slides lower, planting scattered kisses across her ribcage, because if there’s one thing Shaw hates it’s being teased – she’s never drawn sex out as much as she has with Root before in her life, her philosophy being more ‘get some, get out’, and she still struggles, sometimes, to adjust to the change, especially when it’s been so long. Her skin feels ablaze, electricity sparking whenever Root’s lips press against her, and her hips shift impatiently as Root’s mouth nears the edge of her black boyshorts.

They’re peeled away from her body and Shaw hears them drop to the floor somewhere to the side of the bed as Root presses an open-mouthed kiss to the jut of her hip-bone, scraping her teeth against the skin in a way that has a shudder rippling through Shaw’s body, her hips held down firmly by the press of Root’s hands.

Shaw’s breath catches when Root’s hair moves over her thighs, and her hips arc forward despite Root’s grip when she feels warm breath against her sex. She breathes out a quiet curse when Root presses a harsh bite to the inside of Shaw’s thigh, and she feels Root’s smirk against her skin when her leg jerks in response.

Hands slide down to her thighs, then, pushing them further apart in one easy movement, and Shaw tenses in anticipation, groaning at the first touch of Root’s tongue against her, her back arching and her wrists rattling the handcuffs against the headboard in response. Root’s still teasing, tongue sliding the length of her sex before either flattening and pressing inside of her, or flicking lightly against her clit, never staying long in a single place and driving Shaw mad, Root’s fingertips digging harshly into her hips in an attempt to stop Shaw from shifting against her to gain a better angle.

She manages it for about two seconds by hooking one leg over Root’s shoulder, but Root pries her away, rewarding her when she doesn’t try again by focusing her attention at Shaw’s clit, sucking it into her mouth and using just the right amount of pressure she knows Shaw likes – but all too soon she darts away again, and Shaw groans in frustration, tipping her head back against the mattress with a huff.

She knows it’d be easy to get out of the handcuffs and finish things herself, but she’s also pretty sure that Root’s got something else in store for her tonight, and she knows that’s not likely to happen if she manages to escape so she clenches her jaw, rocking against Root’s mouth as much as she allows, letting the pressure build and build until she’s not sure she can stand it anymore, but it’s still not _enough_ , and she almost cries out when Root stops suddenly, pulling away without warning.

“What are you _doing_?” She complains when she feels the bed shift as Root moves away from her, her skin slick with sweat and her pulse thundering in her ears, desperate to stop the ache that Root’s teasing has left behind, and she hears the woman in question tut in disapproval when Shaw’s legs press together to try and get some much needed friction.

“Trust me,” comes the aloof reply, and Shaw groans, letting her legs drop back to the bed and hearing Root hum quietly in approval. She hears rustling coming from the side of the bed and lifts her head, straining her ears in an attempt to figure out what the hell Root is planning.

“This had better be worth it,” she mutters darkly, head falling back against the pillow in defeat, and she hears Root huff out a quiet laugh.

“I think you’ll appreciate it.” _That_ makes her curious, but she forces herself to stay still, focusing on slowing her breathing as she waits for Root to hurry the fuck up. She tenses when she hears the other woman pad back over to the bed, but Root merely slings a knee over Shaw’s hips, her hands settling either side of Shaw’s head. When Root leans down to kiss her, Shaw feels something press against her stomach and groans when she realises what it is, hips pushing up against Root, who smirks against her mouth. “Told you,” she says, a little smugly, but Shaw can’t even bring herself to care, anticipation thrumming through her veins.

It’s not the first time she and Root have used a strap-on, but it’s been a while and it’s one of Shaw’s favourites, and her breath quickens as Root leans back on her haunches – Shaw hears the click of a bottle of lube opening and waits impatiently, and when she feels the head of the dildo rub against her sex she lets out a long breath.

When Root doesn’t move she opens her mouth, ready to tell her to hurry the fuck up, but as soon as she does Root shifts, pressing inside of her slowly, and Shaw’s words turn into in a drawn-out moan, her back arching into Root’s hips, one leg slinging over Root’s back to pull her close, the leather of the harness scraping against her skin.

Root’s quick to find a rhythm that leaves Shaw breathless, her weight braced on one arm while the fingers of her other tug at one of Shaw’s nipples, and Shaw tilts her head up, encouraging Root’s mouth to press against her own in a clash of teeth and tongue as they move together. Shaw’s already close to the edge from Root’s earlier teasing, pleasure sparking through her with each thrust of Root’s hips, and soon she’s too far gone to return Root’s kisses. She lets her head fall back against the pillow and groans when Root’s mouth moves to her neck, instead, nipping and sucking at her pulse point, and when she snakes a hand between their sweat-slicked bodies to brush against Shaw’s clit she shudders, coming with a silent moan with her head tipped back, hips still moving with Root as she slows, drawing Shaw’s orgasm out for as long as possible, her breath hot against the side of Shaw’s neck.

Shaw lets her legs fall back to the bed, her wrists aching from pulling at her restraints, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the force of her breaths. She thinks of what it would be like to tower over Root like this, to brace her hands on her chest and watch Root’s face as she fucked herself and she tugs at the handcuffs weakly, wondering if her co-ordination it up to slipping out of them.

But Root’s apparently one step ahead of her because the next second the pressure around her wrists goes slack, her arms falling to the bed above her head, and Shaw takes a moment to stretch them, rolling her shoulders and assessing the sting. She wraps her legs around Root’s hips once more, and uses the leverage to roll them over, one hand reaching behind her head to tug off the blindfold as she moves.

Root lets out an undignified squeak as her back hits the bed, and Shaw has to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room before she can make out her features – she takes in the flush on her cheeks and her blown pupils and rolls her hips experimentally, the strap-on still buried firmly inside of her, admiring the way Root’s eyes flutter closed as her jaw opens in a quiet moan.

“Look at me,” Shaw murmurs as she rolls her hips again, tipping her head back as she sinks back down, appreciating the new angle as Root’s hands move to steady her hips, gripping her hard. Root complies, her eyes flickering open and Shaw watches her closely as she starts her own rhythm, slowly at first as she adjusts and then more quickly, and she watches Root’s eyes flit from her face, down to her breasts and then between her legs, watching the toy slide in and out of Shaw’s sex before returning to her face once more, and Shaw admires her parted lips, the way her chest heaves with the force of her breaths and the glazed look in her eye.

She leans forward when she feels herself close to a second orgasm, bracing her weight on one arm and closing her other hand around Root’s throat, feeling her moans reverberate beneath her fingertips.

Their lips brush together gently before Shaw nips at Root’s bottom lip, letting it drag between her teeth before releasing it. She tightens her hold on Root’s throat, fingertips digging into her skin, and Root’s lips part in a moan, fighting to keep her eyes open and locked on Shaw’s, and Shaw squeezes even tighter when she comes, watches Root’s eyes glaze over completely before letting go, leaving Root gasping as she collapses next to her on the bed, breathing almost as heavily.

“Worth it?” Root teases when she catches her breath, turning her head to look at Shaw with a soft smile and a raised eyebrow, and Shaw pretends to deliberate for a long moment before replying.

“I _guess_ so.” That’s a lie, and Root knows it, judging from the self-satisfied smirk on her lips, and Shaw makes a face at her that only makes her laugh quietly. She shifts to undo the straps on the harness, sliding it from her hips and letting it drop onto the floor beside the bed, and Shaw frowns when she sees the red marks it’s left behind on Root’s hips, standing out starkly against her pale skin.

“They’re fine,” Root murmurs when she notices the line of Shaw’s gaze, curling one hand around her chin to tilt her head up, brushing their lips together in a kiss entirely too chaste for Shaw’s taste. “Am I allowed to use your shower?”

“You never usually ask,” Shaw points out, because Root’s favourite thing to do has always been to creep into every last part of her life until there was nothing left that was just _Shaw’s_ , and Shaw isn’t really sure when that had stopped annoying the fuck out of her.

“Well, it is the holidays.” Shaw just grunts in response, which Root takes as an acquiescence, and Shaw’s eyes follow her as she rises elegantly from the bed, admiring the view as she makes her way to the bathroom. Root pauses in the doorway to glance back at her, eyes dragging down the length of Shaw’s body, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and Shaw raises an eyebrow under Root’s intense scrutiny. “Don’t want to join me?”

Shaw debates the pros and cons of staying where she is, sated and sleepy, versus pressing Root back against the cool tiles of her bathroom wall and bringing her to her knees with her mouth, and shoves herself off of the bed within a second, hands finding Root’s shoulders and pushing her gently backwards into the bathroom.

x-x-x

“This had better be good, Finch,” Shaw grumbles into her phone the next morning, still lying in her bed, rolling onto her side and turning her back to Root as she presses the phone to her ear with one hand and rubs sleep out of her eyes with the other. She glances at the clock and groans when she sees that it’s nearly six a.m., and that she’s had barely three hours sleep.

Sure, she’s survived on less, but that doesn’t mean that she _wants_ to.

_“Well, I don’t know about_ good _Ms Shaw,”_ Finch replies, sounding entirely too chipper for this time in the morning, _“but Mr Cranshaw bought a plane ticket late last night. It looks like he’s planning on leaving the country this evening.”_

“Oh yeah?” Shaw replies as she stretches her arms over her head and rolls so that she’s sitting up in the bed with her back pressed against the headboard. “Where’s he going, the North Pole?” She snickers at her own joke but Finch merely sighs, and Shaw thinks that Root would have at least appreciated it – if she’d been awake to hear it.  Shaw’s not entirely sure how Root can sleep through just about anything (sometimes she’s a little jealous, because the slightest noise can shock her awake and it had taken her months to adjust to sharing her bed with another person), but she _does_ , usually only waking when the Machine needs her.

_“Russia, actually.”_

“Close enough.” She hides a yawn behind her free hand as she turns to look at Root, lying on her side facing her, and Shaw admires the view where the sheet has fallen down to her waist, exposing her breasts.

_“Yes, well, regardless, it doesn’t look like Mr Cranshaw is planning on repaying his debts anytime soon, and if the people he owes discover that he’s planning to flee...”_

“It’s likely that today’s the day his number is up,” Shaw finishes, a spark of excitement flaring to life in her chest.

_“Be careful, Ms Shaw.”_

“Always am, Finch.” He tuts like he doesn’t think that’s quite true before hanging up, and Shaw’s almost offended, glancing back down at Root’s scarred torso and thinking that she’s nowhere near _that_ careless, these days.

She knows that it’s useless trying to get back to sleep considering she has to be at work in less than two hours, and decides to go for a run, instead. It’s dark outside, a thin layer of snow covering the sidewalk, and Shaw pushes herself hard – there’s not much she can do with this cover that she used to, but staying in shape is one thing she _can_ control, and she’s breathing heavily by the time she circles back to her apartment, breath condensing in a cloud in-front of her before she slips inside the building.

In her bed, Root is still fast asleep, and Shaw thinks that it’s not fair – Root’s the reason why she got very little sleep last night, and decides that it’s only fair that she suffers, too. So she pulls the sheet the rest of the way off of Root’s body and pushes at her shoulder until she’s lying on her back; she doesn’t even stir, and Shaw stares at her for a long moment, blinking in disbelief.

She glances at the clock, sees that she still has over half an hour before she needs to be out of the door to take over from Fusco and trail their number to work and smirks, because she knows one way to wake Root up that will be enjoyable for them both, and she rests her knees on the bed on either side of Root’s hips, dipping her head to press a kiss to the side of her neck.

Root barely moves, even when Shaw’s teeth graze her skin, and she doubles her efforts, sliding down her body to mouth at her breasts. A sleepy moan escapes Root’s mouth when Shaw’s tongue teases a nipple, but when she glances up she sees that Root’s eyes are still closed and shakes her head, exasperated, as she trails her kisses lower, over the taut muscle of Root’s stomach, tongue tracing a couple of the more wicked scars that cover her skin.

Root shivers when Shaw’s hands push her thighs apart so that she can settle between them, a little hitch in her breathing that lets Shaw know that, even if her eyes are still closed, she’s either nearly or completely awake. She wonders if she should tease her a little more as payback for last night, but she’s never been particularly good at that, at making Root wait, because when she’s like this, spread out and wanting, completely at Shaw’s mercy, Shaw can’t resist her.

Her hands curl around Root’s thighs, nails digging into her skin as she dips her head, working Root up with wide, slow strokes of her tongue until her legs are quivering on either side of Shaw’s head and her hips are bucking against Shaw’s mouth. Her eyes never open, but from the way her hands fist tightly in the sheets on either side of her and the noises that come from her mouth (gasps and moans interspersed with the occasional curse or Shaw’s name), Shaw knows that she’s wide awake now.

She draws an orgasm out of Root with her tongue, focusing on her clit and alternating between light and harder strokes with her tongue with one of Root’s heels digging into her back so that she can grind herself against Shaw’s mouth, and if she thought Root would be up to holding herself up she’d love nothing more to flip their positions and let Root ride her face until she came.

This is more than enough for now, though, and Root comes with a breathy sigh, thighs squeezing Shaw’s head for one long moment before releasing her, and Shaw wipes her chin on the shoulder of her shirt before crawling back up Root’s body and pressing a kiss to her mouth, groaning when Root parts her lips and tastes herself on Shaw’s tongue.

“Mm, what did I do to deserve a wake-up call like _that_?” Root asks when their lips part, looking up at Shaw with eyes that are half-lidded, her hands sliding down Shaw’s back and toying with the waistband of her running shorts.

“Nothing,” Shaw replies, reaching down to grasp Root’s wrists gently and tugging her hands away, rolling her eyes at Root’s pout. “I don’t have time for that if I’m going to be showered and ready for work.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Root promises, slipping one hand free from Shaw’s grip and sliding it over Shaw’s chest, palming one of her breasts roughly before hovering at her waistband and looking up at Shaw with a question in her eyes.

“Oh, fuck it,” Shaw breathes, leaning into Root’s touch and wiping away her victorious smirk with a heated kiss, knocking their teeth together as she opens her mouth for Root’s tongue. Root finds her hot and wet and ready, sliding two fingers into her easily, and she groans and grinds against her as she finds a rhythm, fingers curling and palm skating across Shaw’s clit with every thrust. Shaw comes when she adds a third finger, stretching and filling her, with a quiet groan that echoes into Root’s mouth.

She pulls away to catch her breath, and Root drags her hands away from Shaw reluctantly, raising the three fingers that had just been inside Shaw to her mouth and sliding her tongue over them, and Shaw is transfixed for a long moment, watching her, before she catches sight of the time and curses, bolting off the bed and into the bathroom with Root’s light laughter ringing in her ears.

She’s almost ten minutes late heading out the door, and doesn’t manage to make up much time as she hurries to Cranshaw’s apartment, dodging people made too difficult by the busyness of the streets, and she finds Fusco where she’d left John last night.

“You’re late,” is the first thing he says to her, squinting up at her through his half-open window.

“Sorry,” she shrugs. “Not my fault.” Well – maybe it is because she has very little self-control when it comes to Root these days, but… Root was at fault for that, too. “I’m guessing you had an uneventful night?”

“Yeah. Wanna tell me why we’re babysitting this guy, yet?”

“Nope.” Fusco sighs, and Shaw can tell that he’s starting to get frustrated with being kept in the dark, and wonders how long it’ll be before he starts trying to investigate things for himself. “You shouldn’t need to do another night, though.”

“Yeah?” Shaw nods, and he manages a relieved smile. “Good. And if you _do_ need someone to watch him tonight, how about you call your crazy girlfriend, instead. I’m spending Christmas Eve with my son.”

“Root’s not my girlfriend,” Shaw corrects immediately, and he rolls his eyes as he turns the ignition on his car, the engine roaring to life.

“You live together, don’t cha?” He asks, and when Shaw refuses to answer he grins. “Sounds like you’re girlfriends to me.”

“Get out of here before I shoot you.” He chuckles to himself as he pulls away from the curb, and Shaw glowers in his general direction until the car disappears from view. Their number appears a moment later, and Shaw’s a little disappointed when he starts to head for the store – surely if he’s making a run for it he’d rather spend his day in New York doing something a little more interesting?

But evidently not, and Shaw sighs as she follows him into the store, resigning herself to another day in elf hell. She’d thought the past two days had been awful, but it’s nothing compared to this. Shaw had forgotten the date until Fusco had mentioned it, and she’s never seen so many people in one place as she sees that morning, panicked parents dashing around searching for last-minute presents, and Shaw’s so harried by trying to do a decent enough job to not get herself fired that she can barely keep her eye on their number and prays that he doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon because she’s not entirely sure that she’ll be able to slip away after him.

Halfway through her day she turns to find Root leaning against a display and frowns, waving the latest customer to ask her something in the general direction of what they’re after before wandering over to her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I just couldn’t get enough of that outfit…” She trails off with a smile, and Shaw huffs. “And She’s been quiet the past couple of days; I don’t have anything better to do.” She looks a little forlorn as she says it, that air of melancholia that’s been lingering at her edges ever since the four of them had had to go undercover rising to the surface as it does whenever she talks about the Machine, lately, and Shaw wishes, not for the first time, that Root wasn’t so dependent on it, dreads to think what would become of her if anything ever permanently happened to it.

“I hate this stupid outfit.” Shaw tugs the skirt a little further down her thighs as she says it, longing for the hour when she can rip the awful thing to shreds. “It gets me way more attention than it warrants.”

“Or maybe it’s just your sunny personality.” Shaw shoots Root an unamused look, and Root grins. “Adorable.”

“I hate you.” Root’s grin just widens, and Shaw sighs. “Were you planning on loitering around here all day? Because then maybe I’ll get _you_ into one of these things and we’ll see how adorable you think it is then.”

“Why, Sameen, do _you_ have an elf fetish you want to tell me about?” Shaw rolls her eyes, half-turning to leave Root where she is, because really, when they’re not fucking she’s infuriating. “I was planning on going to annoy Harry for a while.” A spark of life comes back to her eyes, and Shaw knows that it amuses her, how uneasy Harold still is around her, sometimes, whenever they’re alone together. “Visit Bear.” Shaw frowns because it’s been a while since she’d seen her favourite team member, and vows to take him for a long walk after this number is done.

“Give him a pat from me.” She turns without saying goodbye, losing herself in the sea of people that surround her, and she’s relieved when things start to wind down in the last half hour of her shift, situating herself near the grotto in the centre so she can keep an eye on their number.

He leaves just as quickly as he had the previous day, but Shaw is more prepared today and easily catches up to him as he slips through the door. She’s not surprised when Root wordlessly falls into step beside her a couple of streets over.

“Bored?” She asks, amused, sensing the restless energy in Root’s body as she presses close to Shaw’s side.

“Just thought you could use the back-up,” Root replies quietly, and Shaw sighs when she realises that their number is heading straight for his apartment, taking a hold of Root’s wrists and tugging her into the mouth of her usual alleyway. “John’s busy.”

“With what?”

“I didn’t ask,” Root shrugs. “Maybe he has a date.” Shaw scoffs, because she’s pretty sure _that’s_ not going to happen anytime soon – but then again, look at her and Root. She never thought she’d ever have any kind of meaningful relationship with another person, but that’s what the two of them seem to have fallen into. Every single person that’s found themselves in Shaw’s bed had been shoved out of it, usually sooner rather than later, but Root had dug her heels in and refused to budge an inch, the only person to ever hold Shaw’s interest for longer than a couple of nights. “Number’s on the move,” Root murmurs, then, cutting off Shaw’s train of thought, and they move together to trail him down the street.

He’s carrying a large bag, and Shaw would be willing to bet that he’s heading to get the subway to the airport, and anticipation crackles through her veins, her every sense on high alert. Her hand is wrapped tightly around the gun in her pocket, and she knows that Root’s ready to reach for the two strapped into her belt beneath her leather jacket at a moment’s notice.

It happens as they cross into a shadier area of town – one minute their number’s walking a handful of steps ahead of them, and the next second he’s disappeared into an alleyway. Shaw and Root hurry to catch up, and when Shaw glances down the alley she sees four guys crowded around Cranshaw, who’s on his knees with his hands held up, two guns trained on his head.

“You really think you could just skip town without anyone noticing?” One of the guys asks as Shaw assesses the situation, drawing her gun from her pocket slowly.

“Any cameras around?” She mutters to Root, because the last thing she needs right now is a load of Samaritan agents raining down on them, but Root shakes her head and Shaw slinks quietly into the alley, using a dumpster to hide from view.

She waits until one of the guys with a gun is distracted, too busy yelling at Cranshaw to notice anything around him, and pops up from behind the dumpster to fire off two shots, getting him and the other gun-wielding guy in the kneecap and leaving them both groaning on the floor.

A shout echoes down the alley as the other two guys scramble for a weapon, several bullets careening against the side of the dumpster, the sound ringing in the quiet of the night. She hears footsteps approaching and braces herself as one of the guys appears around the side – he manages to get a shot off before she can, but she ducks out of the way and fires one into each of his kneecaps for good measure, stepping over him just in time to see the final guy sprinting towards the other end of the alleyway, and Shaw raises her arm and sizes up the shot, letting him _almost_ reach the street before she pulls the trigger, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Shaw can feel Root’s gaze on her, the other woman leaning one shoulder against the coarse brick of the alley wall a few feet away, but turns her attention to the four guys moaning in pain, beginning the arduous task of getting them to lie still long enough for her to ziptie their wrists behind their backs ready for Fusco.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to thank you,” their number gushes, still where his attackers had left him, kneeling on the floor, and reaching out for Shaw as she passes. She steps out of his reach, glancing down at him and smelling the alcohol on his breath, disdain in her eyes.

“How about you stop stealing from dangerous guys who have no qualms about sending someone to kill you if you won’t pay up?” She suggests, and his mouth snaps shut as something like shame flashes across his face. “Stay here or go, I don’t care, but this place is about to be crawling with cops in about ten minutes, so unless you want to explain exactly what happened…”

That gets him moving, scrambling to his feet and snatching up his bag with a final quiet thank you as he passes her, and Shaw reaches for her phone, pressing it to her ear and telling Fusco that four guys have been mysteriously kneecapped downtown, and he mutters something about not resorting to violence before Shaw hangs up, making her way back to Root.

“A little help would have been nice,” she murmurs as she reaches her, glancing up at her through her lashes. “What happened to you being my back-up?”

“I knew you had it all under control,” Root answers with a sweet smile. “Besides, I thought getting to take down four guys at once would be a good early Christmas present.”

“You know I don’t tend to celebrate the holidays, right?”

“I know,” Root shrugs, falling into step beside Shaw as she leaves the guys behind and starts the walk home, stomach rumbling and reminding her to pick up some food on the way home.

“Do you?” Shaw asks, curious, and Root merely looks at her, as if waiting for clarification. “Celebrate Christmas.”

“Never really had a reason to,” she shrugs again, getting a faraway look in her eyes that Shaw isn’t sure that she likes – it’s a lot like the one she’s been sporting lately, morose with the loss of the Machine, only tinged with something a little darker.

“Not even when you were a kid?” Shaw had been brought up with a mixture of holidays, her mother’s and father’s heritages being so different, but even she’d had a handful of Christmases before she’d lost her father – it had always been their day, and she hasn’t celebrated it since.

“No,” Root shakes her head. “My mom… she was either too drunk or too high to bother, and after she was gone… there was no point because I was on my own.” Root rarely talks about her past (not that Shaw’s very forthcoming with her own), and Shaw doesn’t pry. She’d tried, back in the days where Root was ‘the woman from the hotel’ and nothing more, but Root was meticulous about erasing all information about Samantha Groves, and Shaw had learned very little. “I helped my friend decorate her tree one year when I was ten,” Root adds quietly, almost as an afterthought, avoiding Shaw’s gaze like she’s not sure why she’s mentioning it at all, a wistful note to her voice.

“You had friends?” Shaw tries to tease her, wanting to ease her out of the dark mood Shaw seems to have inadvertently sent her into, but Root doesn’t so much as smile and Shaw worries at her bottom lip as they near her favourite take-out place within walking distance of her apartment. “The Machine give you a job yet?”

“No.”

“Alright, well I need food before I go back home.” She steers Root towards the door of the takeaway, shouldering it open, grateful for the warmth that envelops her as soon as she steps inside. “Want anything?”

Root orders what is probably the smallest thing on the menu and Shaw tuts, because she really doesn’t eat as much as she should but the few times she’s brought it up Root just teases her about caring just to make her glower and after a while she’d stopped mentioning it. So she bites her tongue and leans back against the wall, staring out the window as she waits for their order, Root brooding beside her.

Across the street there’s a convenience store, and something catches Shaw’s eye in-front of the window. She stands, chewing on her bottom lip for a long moment before deciding fuck it, because Root’s Eeyore act kind of freaks her out, and maybe if she does something ridiculous and sentimental and so unlike her usual self it’ll snap her out of it.

“Mind if I run across the store to get a couple of beers?” She turns to ask Root, and the other woman nods and stays behind in-case their order is called, and Shaw slips away and across the street, standing outside with her hands on her hips, observing the line of tiny Christmas trees that sit proudly in the street. They’re only about a foot tall, but there’s no way in hell Shaw is lugging anything bigger back to her place, and she chooses the least sad-looking one and takes it to the counter, grabbing a six pack of beer for good measure as she goes, because she _is_ running low and if this makes Root all sappy and shit she’s sure she’s going to need a drink.

She leaves the store just Root’s crossing the street towards her with their food under her arm, and she frowns when she sees what Shaw’s got under hers. “What’s this?”

“A Christmas tree,” she replies, handing it over to Root brusquely and taking the food in its place. “You’ve never had one and I figured it’d stop you looking like you were going to cry – which I do not need to deal with, by the way – so, there you go. Merry Christmas.”

Root looks like she wants to say something, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, though her eyes shine with gratitude and something else Shaw doesn’t want to think too hard about. There’s a swing to Root’s step as they begin to make their way back to Shaw’s apartment ( _their_ apartment, really, she thinks, because it doesn’t look like she’s going to get rid of Root anytime soon).

“Want to go ice skating in central park later?” Root asks casually as they reach Shaw’s building, and Shaw turns to shoot her a look, because that sounds entirely too _date-_ like for her taste (the only acceptable date, to her, is the night she’s just had – getting to kneecap a few guys and rounding the evening off with some decent food and hopefully a lot of hot sex), but there’s a teasing smirk on Root’s mouth that lets Shaw know she’s joking (she debates, for one second, saying yes, if only to see the shock on her face – and she’s also kind of curious if Root is any _good_ at ice skating, because if she’s not, watching her repeatedly fall on her ass could actually be kind of fun).

“Don’t push it,” she says instead, and Root grins as she follows her inside.


End file.
